


Verisimilitude

by niniblack



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: First Time, M/M, More plot than the author expected, Piercings, Pretending to be a pet, Public Sex, Sibling Incest, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niniblack/pseuds/niniblack
Summary: “I’m curious,” Orlant says, “how you expect to help his highness with this mission.”Laurent sits up straighter. “Auguste is awful at lying. And he’s even worse when under pressure. I, on the other hand, am excellent at lying in all circumstances. Therefore, I am here to accompany Auguste. We can say I’m his companion or assistant and I can do the talking.”Orlant is grinning by the end of this, and says, “That’s a noble idea, my Prince, but I think you’re missing something. Most of those assistants are really pets.”Laurent pauses. “Oh.” He seems to think for a moment. “Well, that doesn’t really alter my plan at all. I’ll pretend to be his pet then.” He turns to Auguste. “This will be just like when we used to play pretend.”This will be nothing like when they used to play pretend, Auguste thinks.





	Verisimilitude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exyking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exyking/gifts).



> Dear Exy, you do SO MUCH for us (thank you!) and this doesn't follow any of your prompts exactly but I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry it's a day late.
> 
> Dear fandom, this was my first time writing actual incest and I had a blast.

Auguste has been waiting for it, so it comes as little surprise to him when his father requests that he go to Ladehors. There’s been trouble recently in a few of the port cities, possibly something to do with pirates, and Lord Hueron, who would normally see to such things because the ports fall within his jurisdiction, is an incompetent idiot who could get lost in his own bedroom.

Father announces that he’s sending Auguste to investigate over a private family dinner.

Laurent’s startled exclamation is overshadowed by their mother drying asking, “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Yes,” Father says. “Of course it is.”

“Is he to take an army?” Mother asks. “And demand the pirates show themselves or else?”

Father falters for a moment, fork hovering over his plate, in the face of her raised eyebrow. “Of course not,” he says. “Auguste will go alone.”

“With not even a single guard?”

“Why is he going at all?” Laurent demands.

“He’s the crown prince, it’s his duty.”

“You could send someone else,” Laurent says.

“He is going alone,” Father says, ”with the exception of his best guard, who will accompany him for security. And he is only investigating, and then reporting back on what is causing the problems in Couteaux and Hesmy.”

Mother returns to her meal, spearing a bite of meat with her fork. “Well alright then. I’m sure Auguste will do well.”

“What if the pirates figure out it’s him?” Laurent demands. “Auguste is awful at subterfuge.”

“He’ll be fine,” Father insists.

Auguste has watched them all as one might a tennis match, which he finds is usually the best way to watch his family interact. “I’m sure it will be quite boring, Mother,” he says finally, to reassure her.

“Oh, certainly,” she agrees. “Pirates are terribly boring.”

“And I am _great_ at subterfuge,” he tells Laurent.

“No you’re not,” Laurent says. “You always break after ten seconds of acting.”

“That’s only when I used to play with you.”

“That was last week.”

Auguste straightens his shoulders. “I’ll only be asking around town anyway, pretending to be a commoner.”

Laurent moans. “You’re awful at that game.”

“I am not.”

“You _are_.”

“ _Boys_.” Father’s tone is exasperated. “Auguste will be leaving this weekend. Laurent, do stop antagonizing him.”

“But I wasn’t–“

“Laurent.”

Laurent settles back into his seat, disgruntled, and picks at his food the rest of dinner. Mother enquires about Councilor Guion’s wife, and the conversation between their parents moves on. Auguste tried to catch Laurent’s eye again, but Laurent only glances at him once, and then away again quickly.

\- - -

Laurent must get over it because he turns up in Auguste’s rooms the next morning, early, and demands to see what Auguste is planning to take with him for his role pretending to be a commoner.

Auguste is still in bed, and hasn’t given it any thought.

“Typical,” Laurent mutters, turning to Auguste’s wardrobe and yanking it open. He starts sorting through the jackets that hang there, rejecting most of them.

“What wrong with the black?” Auguste asks, lounging back against his pillows and leaving Laurent to it.

“It’s silk,” Laurent says. “And embossed. Honestly.”

He bends down, digging through the drawers at the bottom of the wardrobe, and the pants he’s wearing must be a bit too small because they’re stretched obscenely tight across his ass as he does. Auguste catches himself staring and yanks his eyes away, focussing on his bedcurtains.

Laurent tosses something onto the end of the bed. “Here, this will work.”

He’s found a deep brown jacket normally used on a hunt. “Am I pretending to be a hunter.”

“No,” Laurent says, rolling his eyes and climbing onto the end of the bed as well. “You’re pretending to be a minor nobleman who normally spends his time at court but has heard there’s good trade to be had in Ladehors and have come to see about it yourself. You have some items that need to be handled, shall we say, discreetly. And you’re wondering if this innkeeper or that brothel owner might know where you could find such a discrete tradesperson.”

Auguste stares at him. “Did you just come up with that?”

“Yes,” Laurent says, like an elaborate backstory is nothing. He nudges the jacket toward Auguste impatiently. “Now try this on. You need to look rich, but not too rich. Like a rich man trying not attract attention.”

\- - -

Auguste heads out the next week with one of the newer members of his Prince’s Guard, a man named Orlant who has a face that won’t attract a second look and will hopefully go unnoticed on this expedition. He seems surprised to get the honor over one of the more senior members, but Auguste trusts all the members of his guard and is sure Orlant will do well. Orlant has more recent experience camping than the others, and hails from Ladehors besides.

Since they’re undercover, it means camping, and since it’s just the two of them it means Auguste is doing a lot of the work himself of pitching his own tent. They’re camping outside Chastillon the first night, and it’s not until they’ve already eaten some smoked fish and hard cheese next to the fire that Auguste notices the light further off, flickering just through the trees.

“What’s that?”

“Sir?”

Auguste gestures towards the light, and Orlant turns to frown at it.

“Another camp?” He offers.

“So close to ours?”

Orlant shrugs. “These are good hunting grounds, aren’t they?”

Auguste frowns, still watching the light – another campfire for sure – flickering. “I suppose.”

The light is there again the next night, on the border with Ladehors. “Hunting?” Auguste says.

“Someone following us,” Orlant guesses.

“Let’s go find out who.”

The approach the other camp from what they think is behind, and find a small, lopsided tent and a fire. There’s a boy hunched over the fire, looking at what looks like a dead squirrel.

Orlant nudges Auguste, and makes a gesture, miming overtaking the boy.

Auguste shakes his head, and motions for Orlant to stay back. Then he steps out from the behind the tent, ignoring Orlant’s aborted attempt to stop him, and asks, “Were you planning to eat squirrel for dinner?”

The boy startles so badly he drops the squirrel into the fire. He spins around, and in the firelight Auguste is sure that it will clear to Orlant what Auguste could tell before. The person who’s been following them is Laurent.

Laurent crosses his arms. “How did you find me?”

“We saw your fire,” Auguste tells him. He pokes Laurent’s tent, and the whole thing topples over. Auguste looks back up at him, but Laurent just raises his chin. “How did you even make a fire?”

“I have matches,” Laurent says.

“Of course you do. And the reason you’re in the middle of nowhere near Ladehors?”

“I’m here to help you.”

Auguste stares at him, because he’s sure Laurent _thinks_ that following him is helpful. Somewhere, in Laurent’s twisty brain, this probably seemed like a great plan. But it’s an absolutely hairbrained scheme and Auguste is so furious he wants to just _smack_ Laurent right now. He won’t. But he really wants to.

“We’re too far for you to send me back to Arles,” Laurent points out.

“Oh, I’m aware,” Auguste says. He sighs. “Get your things and follow us back to our camp.”

Orlant starts to help Laurent, and Auguste tells him to stop and just put out the fire. Laurent’s been carrying it all himself, he can carry it to camp. Laurent glares at him but doesn’t protest.

Orlant does help put Laurent’s tent up back at their camp though, because Laurent proves to have no earthly idea how to do it. And he seems amused by the entire thing, giving Laurent some of the fish they’d caught for dinner as well.

Laurent eats it like he’s starving, and then thanks Orlant very formally. 

“You’re welcome, Your Highness,” Orlant says. “I’m curious, if you don’t mind saying, how you expect to help his highness with this mission.”

Laurent sits up straighter. “Auguste is awful at lying.” Orlant hums in agreement, and Auguste is about to protest but Laurent has kept going: “And he’s even worse when under pressure. I, on the other hand, am excellent at lying in all circumstances. Therefore, I am here to accompany Auguste. We can say I’m his companion or assistant and I can do the talking.”

Orlant is grinning by the end of this, and says, “That’s a noble idea, my Prince, but I think you’re missing something.”

“What?” Laurent asks. “It makes sense for a Lord to travel with an assistant.”

Orlant glances at Auguste before he says, “Most of those assistants are really pets.”

Laurent pauses. “Oh.” He seems to think for a moment. “Well, that doesn’t really alter my plan at all. I’ll pretend to be his pet then.”

Auguste chokes on the sip of water he’s just taken. Orlant starts to laugh and then suppresses it, as if realizing who he’s with.

Laurent turns to Auguste, wearing that same expression he did as a child when he’d found something he wanted and was looking to head off being told he couldn’t have it. “This will be just like when we used to play pretend,” he tells Auguste.

This will be nothing like when they used to play pretend, Auguste thinks. Nothing at all.

\- - -

When they arrive in Couteaux, Auguste sends Orlant to secure accommodation.

“And a proper disguise,” Laurent tells him.

“I know just the thing, Little Prince,” Orlant says, acting far too fond of Laurent and this antics. He’s been indulging him by helping with his tent every night when Auguste refused as well. And taught Laurent how to skin the rabbits that they caught, though ‘teaching’ mostly involved doing it for him.

Orlant returns to lead them to rooms at an inn called The Ostrich and when Laurent asks after his disguise, he holds up a hands and dangles from it a single glittering earring. 

“An earring,” Laurent says, skeptical.

“I pinched this from the wagon of a noblewoman; it’s real.”

“You _stole_ it?” Auguste demands.

Orlant shrugs. “She won’t miss it. And Prince Laurent needs to look legitimate.”

Laurent takes the earring from him, holding it up to the light. “My ears aren’t pierced.” He looks up at Auguste.

Auguste stares at him, and at the earring. It’s a cluster of sapphires and diamonds, set in gold, and seems made for Laurent; matching his coloring exactly, all blues and silvers and golds. This is a very bad idea.

“Find a needle,” he tells Orlant.

Orlant finds a sewing kit in their pack, intended for repairs and not for piercings, and Auguste directs Laurent to sit near their campfire. He sets about preparing things from what he has on hand, which isn’t much. There’s no ice to numbs Laurent’s eat first, so this is going to hurt. The only thing they have to steady the back of Laurent’s ear is a notebook, which is too large and awkward for Orlant to hold.

Auguste twists the needle in the flame to sterilize it, then shakes it in the air to cool. “Hold your hair back,” he tells Laurent, and then, “Ready?” as he presses the needle against Laurent’s earlobe.

Laurent looks up at him, eyes wide and pupils dark. He looks like he trusts Auguste completely, and Auguste isn’t sure what to do with that. “Yes.”

Auguste pushes the needles in.

Laurent’s breath hitches, but he remains still. A drop of blood wells up around the needle and drips from Laurent’s earlobe to the dirt. Auguste wiggles the needle around to widen the hole, then pulls it out and hands it to Orlant, holding out his hand for the earring. Laurent offers it up.

It’s too heavy for a first earring, honestly. But they’ve come this far.

Auguste steps back to take a look.

“At least you don’t need to try and lineup the other side evenly,” Orlant comments. “I was only able to nick the one earring.”

“It hurts,” Laurent says, but in a tone that says it’s more of an academic observation than an actual complaint. He lets his hair back down, and it swishes back into place around his shoulders. Too long, Father has been complaining, but Mother says all the men in Kempt always wear their hair long so why shouldn’t her son. So Laurent has kept growing it out. And now it hangs long, past his shoulders, with the earring a bright, glittering spot set against its golden backdrop.

Auguste stares. Laurent looks like a bloody pet. An expensive one, at that.

Orlant sidles up next to him. “Told you the disguise would work,” he says.

\- - -

Orlant insists the inn he’s found is the best in town, and is where a visiting nobleman like the one Auguste is pretending to be might stay. The innkeeper doesn’t look surprised to see that Auguste has both a pet and a servant with him, and shows him to a set of rooms upstairs.

Laurent balks at them.

“These aren’t your best rooms,” he says, standing in the doorway and looking over the room with disdain, nose in the air and arms crossed.

The innkeeper rolls his eyes. “Your man didn’t pay for the best room.”

Laurent turns to Orlant. “You idiot. Can’t you get anything right? Give the man some more coin. I want the best room. And a hot bath. We’ve been on the road for ages. And some bread and cheese, but wait to bring those up until after the bath.”

“Now Lau–“ Auguste starts to say, and receives a death glare from Laurent at the near slip. They’d discussed names on the way in, but Auguste can’t remember the one Laurent had come up with. Something with an R? Renuard? “Renuard, don’t insult the innkeeper. These rooms are fine. Get inside.”

“ _Renuard_?” Laurent hisses. “ _Renuard_?!” 

Oh right, the name had been Rémy.

Laurent pushes a hand against Auguste’s chest, pushing him back a step, into the rooms. “ _Renuard_ was your _last_ pet.”

“Right, sorry,” Auguste holds up his hands in surrender. “Forgive me.”

“ _Forgive you_ ,” Laurent repeats, spitting out the words. The shoves Auguste’s chest again, and Auguste takes another step back. “I’m going to suck your cock so well you forget _Renuard_ ever existed.” Another shove. “Then I’m going to get you hard again and I’m going to ride your cock until I’m gaping from it and you come screaming _my_ name.”

Auguste’s eyes widen, because Laurent looks entirely serious. Laurent shoves him one last time and Auguste’s knees hit the back of the bed, spending him sprawling onto his back. Laurent turns to slam the door in the innkeepers stunned face.

There’s a moment of silence. From the hallway, Auguste can hear Orlant say, “I think the rooms will be fine, but they’ll probably want that bath. How much?” and start haggling over the price.

Laurent turns back to Auguste and grins, coming over to climb onto the bed beside him. “That was fun,” Laurent declares, voice quiet. “And I know you really did forget, but the innkeeper is sure to spread that story about you forgetting your own pet’s name to at least a few people, so that will just make you seem like an easier mark to the pirates. They’ll think you’re an absolute idiot. So it’s worked out in our favor really.” He’s practically bouncing with adrenaline. “We’ll have to wait a while to make it look good but then we can go downstairs and eat and see if there’s anyone to talk to. _Try_ to remember the names next time.”

Auguste stares at him. Right, he reminds himself. This is an act. Laurent is acting. Laurent is… really fucking good at acting. Holy shit.

Laurent flops over onto his back, making the mattress bounce under them. Auguste holds himself stiffly to avoid rolling against him.

“Maybe we should take a nap,” Auguste suggests. “Since we have awhile.”

“And since we have a real bed,” Laurent says. He rolls around, long limbs twisting smoothly, until he’s sprawled on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms. His hip is warm against Auguste’s thigh, even through the layers of cloth. “Don’t let me sleep too long though. This needs to look like a quickie before dinner.”

Auguste bites his lip before answering. “Sure.”

\- - -

They’re woken by the servant bringing the bath, which sends Laurent into a panic that they don’t look like they’ve been fucking. He orders Auguste to strip naked, and when Auguste is too slow about it tugs at his laces himself, and then runs his hands into Auguste’s hair, mussing it from its braid. Laurent steps back to survey his work, worrying his lip between his teeth. “It’ll have to do,” he says, spinning Auguste toward the door with a hand on his shoulder.

Laurent hides himself under the blankets until only his hair is visible, and Auguste opens the door to let the servant in.

Once the bath is full, the servant asks, “Anything else, sir?”

Auguste dips a hand in to test the temperature. “No, that’ll be all.”

Laurent emerges from the blankets looking red in the face once the servant is gone, and says, “I thought I’d die under there before he was done.”

Auguste is already climbing into the bath.

“Hey! That’s my bath,” Laurent protests.

“I’m the one who’s naked.”

“I’m the one who had them bring it.”

“Too late,” Auguste says, settling himself into the bath. “It’s my bath now.”

Laurent’s eyes narrow, and he starts tugging on the laces at his neck. A few minutes later he’s climbing into the bath alongside Auguste. It’s really not big enough for them both, and the end result is that Laurent’s slick skin is sliding against Auguste’s at every shift and he’s sitting practically in Auguste’s lap.

Laurent seems unbothered by this. He wiggles around until his back is to Auguste, and bends his spine until he can dip his hair in the water. “Wash my hair,” he orders.

For a moment, Auguste has a vivid memory of being thirteen and watching one of the servants give a baby Laurent his bath, only for Laurent to demand that Auguste do it instead. This is… entirely different. This is like last year, when he’d had a pet and they’d climb into his bath and offer to wash his back. That often turned into a massage, and led to sex.

Laurent looks over his shoulder, wet hair hanging dark across his back. “Well?”

Auguste reaches for the shampoo.

\- - -

By the time they make it downstairs, dinner is in full swing. Orlant has secured a table and camped out at it, nursing a mug of ale and looking rather drunk. He waves when he sees Auguste and Laurent on the stairs.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be coming downstairs,” Orlant says, adding a belated, “sir.”

“Verisimilitude,” Auguste mutters, straddling the bench. Laurent is clinging to him now, leaning against his shoulders, body warm and sweet smelling from the scented soaps the servant had brought them. He’d had Auguste braid half his hair back, and the earring shows up even more than before, catching the flickering light from the candle on their table and throwing it across the wall. The men at the neighboring table are staring at him. One catches Auguste’s eyes and raises his mug, smirking. Auguste looks away.

“I’m starving,” Laurent declares loudly. “We worked up an appetite.”

Orlant chokes on his ale a bit, but recovers quickly and signals the innkeeper.

“He seems fun,” one of the men at the other table comments, loud enough that it’s clearly meant for Auguste to hear.

“He’s a handful,” Auguste says. “Sit down, Rémy.”

Laurent eyes the bench, then moves to perch himself on Auguste’s lap.

Auguste wraps a hand around either side of his waist and lifts him off, setting him down on the bench. Laurent leans his elbows on the table, pouting.

“Come over here, darling,” one of the men calls. “You can sit on my lap.”

“See,” Laurent says. “I have plenty of offers.”

“None of them could afford you,” Auguste says.

Laurent turns to the table. “How much are you offering?”

The man who called out to him pulls out his coin bag, and hold up a silver coin. 

Laurent wrinkles his nose. “No.”

“Aw, come on,” the man says. “Just for a lap dance.”

“I don’t work for charity,” Laurent tells him, turning away.

Orlant hides his grin behind his mug.

“Your pet is very uppity,” one of the other men tells Auguste.

“My pet is very expensive,” Auguste says. He turns to the man, arching an eyebrow at him. “I pay him well, and I assure you he’s quite agreeable. Rémy, sit on my lap.”

Laurent tilts his head at Auguste, but does as he’s told. Auguste wraps an arm around his waist to pull him in more firmly, and Laurent wiggles his ass as he settles across Auguste’s thighs.

Auguste nods at the men. “I don’t give him silver.”

“Take pity on poor men then, good sir. Have him give us a show.”

Auguste leans down, so that his lips are brushing the shell of Laurent’s ear, and whispers, “You don’t have to.”

“Verisimilitude,” Laurent says, barely a whisper, and then he reaches one arm up, wrapping it around Auguste’s neck, and shifts his hips in a sinuous move that manages to rubs his ass against Auguste’s cock, through both layers of their pants. 

Auguste’s eyes widen, and he quickly tries to school his expression as Laurent launches into an actual _lap dance_ right here in this crowded inn. He isn’t sure how he was expecting Laurent to interpret ‘put on a show’ but this wasn’t quite it. A dance, sure, but not… not _this_.

Laurent’s other hand lands on Auguste’s hip, and he uses that for leverage as he gyrates above him. Auguste has seen pets at court do this, and of course Laurent has too, but it’s usually more of tease. They’re usually not… _touching_ so much. Laurent’s weight is still mostly resting on Auguste as he moves, his ass dragging over Auguste’s lap, a friction against his cock that he feel even through his pants. That’s helped, no doubt, by the fact that Auguste’s cock had taken an interest from the first movement of Laurent’s hips, and is now fully hard, straining against its confines. If Laurent has noticed – and how can’t he have? – he hasn’t given any indication. He continues his movements. His head tips back, the crown of his head resting against Auguste’s shoulder. His eyes are closed and his throat is bared, a column of pale skin. The earring glints against his skin when he tips his head to the side and twists his torso. When he rolls his head again and opens his eyes, looking back at Auguste, his eyelids are heavy. He looks at Auguste like he knows that Auguste has been thinking of leaning over those scant inches and licking his throat.

Laurent grinds his ass down against Auguste’s cock, not breaking eye contact.

He follows that with a complicated move that has him turning around, straddling one of Auguste’s thighs, and moving over him in more of an actual dance now. His thigh keeps brushing up against Auguste’s cock where it’s straining against his pants, an obvious bulge now that Laurent’s not sitting on his lap anymore. There’s a whoop from one of the men at the other table.

Laurent loops an arm around his neck and leans in close, his breath warm against Auguste’s ear. “I should take care of that for you.” His voice is low, breathy. Auguste swallows hard.

Laurent settles himself onto Auguste’s thigh, one knee hitched up onto the bench alongside Auguste’s hip. He keeps his arm hooked around Auguste’s neck, and Auguste’s not sure if it’s for show or because he actually needs it for balance. His other hand trails down Auguste’s chest, fingertips catching on the laces of his jackets, and stop to rest against the top of pants. His voice is a whisper as he says, “They’ll think I’m a bad pet if I don’t.”

Auguste nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Laurent’s fingers pluck at the laces of Auguste’s pants deftly, and then he reaching inside his pants, cool fingers closing around Auguste’s overheated cock. Auguste can’t stop himself from inhaling sharply at the contact, and Laurent makes a pleased humming sound in the back of his throat.

Across the table, Orlant is staring at them, eyes wide as saucers. The men at the other table have gone quiet as they watch. There’s a general hum of conversation from elsewhere in the room, a clatter from the kitchen. Every noise feels like it amplifies the feeling of Laurent’s hand on his cock.

Laurent squeezes the base a bit, before stroking upward. He does that again, and again, and then squeezes at the top, thumb swiping over the head and bead of precum that’s gathered there. Auguste looks away from Laurent’s hand on his cock, to find that Laurent’s head is tilted down, attention rapt on his task. His lips are parted just a bit, breathing harder than normal.

That damn earring is shining against his hair, distracting Auguste’s attention from his face. The picture he makes, sitting on Auguste’s lap, staring at his cock intently as he works it methodically, still laced up perfectly and looking like the most exquisite pet at court – it’s makes Auguste’s cock twitch in Laurent’s grip, and Laurent glances up for a moment, eyes meeting Auguste’s. He must take it for a sign he’s doing well, because he goes back at it with enthusiasm, thumbing the slit of Auguste’s cock and making his toes curl. Auguste’s eyes fall shut, head tipping back, as he can feel his orgasm approaching. Laurent strokes him through it.

When Auguste opens his eyes, he finds Laurent looking down at his messy hand with an expression of slight distaste, and laughs. He has a handkerchief somewhere, and starts patting down his pockets looking for it, but then Laurent raises his hand to his mouth, tongue darting out and sucking one finger into his mouth.

Auguste stares. Laurent tilts his head, a bit like a bird, as if contemplating the taste. If he doesn’t like it, it doesn’t show on his face.

Across the table, Orlant coughs. “Still hungry, then?”

The men at the other table laugh at the innuendo, and Laurent twists to glare at Orlant. “Go get us some food,” he orders.

Auguste finds the handkerchief and hands it to Laurent so he can finish cleaning up, then relaces his own pants. Laurent slides off his lap, settling next to him and snuggling against his side. Auguste rests an arm over his shoulders.

Orlant shakes his head, but gets up to go find the innkeeper and some food. Auguste calls after him for get some wine as well. He feels like he needs a strong drink.

The men at the other table, the ones who started Laurent on this entire tangent, are rising to leave. The one who’d offered the silver coin steps forward and drops the coin onto the table in front of Laurent. “I can’t offer you more than that, but you did put on quite a show.” He winks at Auguste. “Thank you, kindly…” he trails off, obviously waiting for Auguste to offer his name.

“Lord Francis,” Auguste says, remembering the name Laurent had come up with for him this time.

“You’re a lucky man,” he says.

Auguste nods. “I hope it carries over into my business in town as well.”

“What sort of business?”

“Looking to establish some trade routes,” Auguste says, “for my estate.”

The man looks interested, but just says, “Well, I’m sure you’ll do fine with that here, sir,” before walking away.

Laurent frowns after him. “He wasn’t a pirate.”

“How do you know?”

“He would have had more money if he was.”

Auguste can’t help but laugh at that frank assessment.

\- - -

That evening is an exercise in restraint. Laurent doesn’t seem bothered by sharing a bed with Auguste, not even after what they’ve just done downstairs, and acts as though it’s the same as every other time they’ve slept together over the years. As though nothing has changed at all.

Auguste tries to follow his lead, but he can feel the warmth of Laurent’s body, meer inches from his own, separated by only their thin shirts. Laurent’s legs are bare, and brush against Auguste’s more than once.

His feet are cold though, and he tries to press them against Auguste’s leg to warm them, which is a startling dose of reality as Auguste tries to kick him off.

Auguste feels like he hasn’t slept much when they set out the next morning for the docks, to enquire after a “trading partner” that they’re hoping will lead them to their pirate. Laurent insists on stopping by the market, because he wants some fresh baked goods for a snack, so after that diversion they’re on their way finally and shortly after arriving they stumble upon the same group of men from last night.

Auguste waves over to the one who’d lingered longer than the others, and he approaches again. “Lord Francis,” the man says. “What brings you to the docks?”

“Looking for that trading route I mentioned,” Auguste tells him.

“Here?”

Auguste gestures around them, to the hustle and bustle of goods being transported on and off ships. “Where better than the place such transport takes place?”

The man looks considering. “I suppose.”

“I don’t know if I caught your name…”

“Victor,” the man says. “What kind of trade are you looking for?”

Laurent looks about ready to start speaking, so Auguste hurries to beat him to it. “I have several items that I need to move out of the country – I don’t much care where they wind up. They’d sell better in Patras than Akielos but just off-shores will do. But it’s a discrete matter, you understand.”

“Discrete,” Victor echoes.

Auguste nods. “Very.”

Victor is eyeing him, consideringly. His gaze roves over Laurent as well, and Orlant, standing two steps behind with his hands on his belt. “I think I know a guy who could help you with that,” Victor says.

Which is how they get taken into a small building nearby, to meet with a man named Rosaire. Rosaire runs his own shipping business, Victor explains, and often carries cargo of the sort Auguste has described.

Victor leaves them outside for a moment to go speak with Rosaire alone, and Laurent turns an excited gaze to Auguste. “It’s them!” he whispers, bouncing on his heels. Auguste shushes him, just in time as Victor reemerges to lead them inside.

Rosaire is indeed the pirate leader they’ve been sent to find. Now Auguste just needs to secure this deal, and he’ll have all the evidence he needs to send the local soldiers in to seize their ships. He’s just about done it, they’ve arranged a price, a date, discussed a possibility of continuing the relationship when Auguste has merchandise that needs discreet handling in the future, depending on how this first run goes, of course, when Rosaire screws it all up.

“Your boy is very pretty,” Rosaire says.

Auguste frowns, unsure where this is going. Laurent’s across the room, gazing idly out the window and giving the appearance of being bored by the proceedings. “He is,” Auguste agrees.

“We don’t often see pets that pretty, here in these parts. Did he come from Arles?”

“He did.”

Laurent has turned around now, since the conversation is about him, but stays by the window. Rosaire’s smile is full of yellow teeth. “Throw in a tumble with him and I’ll cut the price in half.”

Auguste forces his expression to remain amicable, despite the sudden pounding of his heart. He clenches his fist under the table so tightly that his nails dig into his palm. “No. The price is fine as it is.”

Rosaire drops his smile. “I think you misunderstood me. Throw in a tumble with your boy, or no deal.”

Auguste stands, feeling like it’s the only thing he can do now. He can’t remain sitting here, across from this man, listening to him leer at Laurent for another moment. “Then no deal.” He stalks over to Laurent, grabs him by the arm, and pulls him from the room, ignoring the wide-eyed shock on his face. Orlant follows.

Rosaire shouts after him, but Auguste ignores him. He’s consumed by the thought that _that man_ thought he had any right to demand to touch Laurent. _How dare he!_ He was lucky to even have the chance to look upon Laurent. Laurent was better than all of these men, and just because he’d put on an earring they thought they had some right to him. The men last night has been the same, offering him money. He was _Auguste’s_ , not theirs.

“Where are we going?” Laurent asks.

“Home,” Auguste tells him.

Laurent stumbles, but regains his feet quickly and Auguste barely slows down. “Wait we can’t go home, those were the pirates!”

Auguste keeps walking, holding onto Laurent’s wrist. He’s headed back to the inn, but taking a much more direct route than they’d taken earlier today. He can see it now at the end of the street.

“Auguste,” Laurent says, tugging at his arm. “You have to go back and make a deal with him so that you can send the soldiers in. You almost had him!”

“I’m not making any deals that involve selling _you_ off to someone else,” Auguste says.

“Well not for _real_ , obviously,” Laurent says. “But it’s not a real deal anyway. Just make him think it is.”

“No,” Auguste says.

They’ve reached the inn now, and Auguste pulls Laurent inside the straight up the stairs towards their room.

“That doesn’t make any sense, Gus,” Laurent says. “It’s not like it’s real and I’d really sleep with him. Ew. No. But you can tell him that I will and then he’ll make the deal and then the soldiers can–”

Auguste drags him into the room and slams the door shut behind them, then slams Laurent up against it, pressing his wrist hard against the wood and looming over him. It finally makes Laurent shut up, and he closes his mouth with a click of his teeth.

Auguste leans in close to tell him, “I’m not going to let that man near you.”

“Well, not for _real_ ,” Laurent says again.

“Not for fake either,” Auguste says. “He shouldn’t even think it was possible that he could have you. You’re perfect. And he’s… he’s trash.”

Laurent’s mouth twists a bit. “That’s kind of sweet, I guess.” He slouches a bit, against the door, still in Auguste’s grip, going pliant under him, head tilted up, and says, “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“He can’t touch me,” Laurent says. “But what about you?”

Auguste frowns.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Laurent says. He reaches up with his free hand to grip Auguste’s collar, pulls sharply on it to yank him down, and shoves their mouths together. It’s not a great kiss, at first. It’s just a press of lips, both mouths closed and dry, but then Laurent opens his mouth, tongue pressing against Auguste’s bottom lip, and Auguste responds. His hand moves to cradle Laurent’s jaw, to tilt his head to a better angle, and he opens his mouth over Laurent’s and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. Laurent makes a small noise in his throat, pleased, and Auguste tries to make him do it again, tongue licking inside Laurent’s mouth.

Laurent is an enthusiastic kisser, but also an inexperienced one, and Auguste isn’t sure if that should thrill him the way it does. But it does send a note singing through him, the way Laurent kisses messily, the way he lets Auguste lead him and then tries to copy whatever Auguste had just done. Auguste sucks Laurent’s lip between his teeth, bites down on it gently earning him a startled squeak from Laurent, then soothes it with gentle pressure, and a minute later Laurent copies the move, his bite rougher, his sucking more intense.

They’re still against the door but Auguste wants to see how Laurent looks spread out on the bed, under him this time, and pulls him across the room with a hand around his waist, leading him in a stumbling walk toward the bed. Laurent falls onto it, hair splaying out around his head like halo. That thrice-damned _earring_ glints in the light, shining as Laurent turns his head to look up at Auguste.

“Take off your jacket,” Auguste tells him, and Laurent hurries to do as he’s told. Auguste works on his own laces, then helps Laurent with the wrists of his jacket. He shrugs it off his shoulders, and Auguste pulls it away, tossing it onto the floor.

Laurent scoots up until he’s closer to the pillows, and Auguste crawls with him. Laurent’s shirt is thin, and Auguste runs his palm up Laurent’s side over it, moving over him on the bed. His collarbone is exposed now, and Auguste dips his head to press his lips against it, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses across the hollow of Laurent’s throat, then up his neck to just under his jaw. Laurent tilts his head to the side and lets out a soft groan, hips bucking just a bit, as Auguste sucks on a spot just over his pulse. Auguste bites down gently, then soothes the bite with a kiss, before sucking on it harder. He wants to leave a mark – wants to leave _his_ mark on Laurent. He wants anyone else who looks at him to see it.

“Ah,” Laurent says, breathless. He buries a hand in Auguste’s hair, and his other hand trails down Auguste’s arm, finding a hold on his elbow and clutching, like he isn’t sure what to do with it.

Auguste sits back. The spot on Laurent’s neck stands out, deeply red against his pale skin. Laurent is looking up at him, chest rising and falling sharply, red lips parted. He looks ravished, and all Auguste has done is kiss him.

Auguste shrugs his own jacket off, then pulls his shirt over his head. Laurent reaches for him, but Auguste is tugging at Laurent’s shirt already, and Laurent stops, raising his arms obligingly. Laurent props himself up on his elbows to watch as Auguste moves down the bed to work on his boots, and falls back again when Auguste reaches for the laces of his pants.

“Okay?” Auguste checks, fingers resting lightly on the knot. Laurent is hard in his pants, cock warm and straining against the fabric, but he also hasn’t said much since he kissed Auguste.

“More than okay,” Laurent says. “Get on with it. I’ve wanted your hand on my cock for _ages_. Don’t you dare stop now.”

“Ages, huh?” Auguste says, working the knot of the laces open. He plucks at the laces slowly. “How long, exactly?” He’s fishing, and he knows it, but he’s wanted Laurent for at least the last year and it would be nice to know if the feeling had been mutual.

“Yes, ages,” Laurent says. “I know you can do them faster than that. Come on.”

Auguste undoes the last the laces more quickly, and then tugs Laurent’s pants down his hips to bunch around his thighs. His cock springs out, hard and flush against his stomach, and Auguste reaches for it, hand wrapping around the base and giving a gentle stroke upward. Laurent’s back arches in pleasure, a groan escaping his lips.

Auguste strokes his cock a few times, then fondles his balls as he asks, “What do you want?”

Laurent gasps in a breath. “More,” he says.

Auguste lets go, hand smoothing over Laurent’s thigh, and Laurent whines at the loss. “Laurent, tell me what you want. You haven’t had a problem saying any number of crude scenarios before now.” He looks up at Laurent’s face, and Laurent’s cheeks are flushed, the color spreading all the way down his chest. His hair is tangled around him, his mouth open and lips still plush from kissing earlier. Auguste leans down to kiss him again, licking into his mouth and not letting up until Laurent whines deep in his throat.

“Fuck me,” Laurent gasps out. “I want your cock inside me.”

Auguste’s hand runs back over Laurent’s balls, then further back, towards his hole, and he brushes the tip of one finger over the tight furl. “Here?”

Laurent’s arches, ass clenching around Auguste’s hand. “Yes.”

Auguste strokes his finger again. “Relax,” he murmurs to Laurent. “You’re so tight. Have you even played with yourself here?” Laurent doesn’t answer, so Auguste says, “Laurent?”

He gets a nod in response.

“With what? Your fingers? Toys?” He strokes his own finger harder. His cock is hard and tight against the pants he’s still wearing, but watching Laurent’s reactions right now is so rewarding. If Laurent kissed like someone new to it then his reactions to being touched are even better. He holds himself still, tense, like he’s unsure what to expect, and then surprised by the pleasure each time. Auguste can’t wait to show him how good it can feel.

“Fingers,” Laurent answers.

“We’re going to have to work on loosening you up enough for my cock then,” Auguste tells him. His eyes catch on the earring. “A good pet should be able to take a cock.”

Laurent laughs a bit, but looks up at him with his eyes dark. “I want you in me,” he says again.

And who is Auguste to deny him, really? There’s oil in the nightstand, and Auguste retrieves it, spilling perhaps a bit more than necessary over his palm as he slicks his fingers. He goes back to rubbing one finger tip over Laurent’s hole, but with more purposeful stokes now. He rubs his other hand over Laurent’s inner thigh, and Laurent spreads his legs further, shaking out his shoulders a bit as he settles back into the pillows.

“That’s it,” Auguste tells him. “Just relax.”

“I’m relaxed,” Laurent says.

Auguste’s fingertip slides in easily enough, and he watches Laurent’s face. He looks mostly like he’s considering the sensation. Auguste works the finger in further, short strokes and twists, until it all the way in. Laurent has stayed relaxed, so after working one finger for a bit he adds another. That gets him a furrowed brow for a moment, before Laurent smooths out his expression. Auguste grins, crooks his fingers on the next stroke in, and strokes until Laurent’s eyes fly open, body jolting.

“Do that again,” Laurent demands.

“Do what?” Auguste asks, going back to working him open.

“Whatever you just did.”

“This?” Auguste asks, fingers twisting as he separates them to open Laurent up further.

Laurent groans a bit at the stretch, but says, “No, that other thing. That felt really good.”

“Oh this?” Auguste crooks his fingers again, searching for his prostate, and is rewarded with Laurent’s back arching off the bed, ass tightening around his fingers.

“Ahh,” Laurent groans. “Yes that. Keep doing that.”

“I thought you wanted my cock.”

“I want both.”

Auguste laughs, and strokes his prostate again. Laurent tries to reach for his cock, and Auguste catches his wrist. “Not yet,” he says. Laurent whines at him, back arching as Auguste hits his prostate again. There’s a bit of precum on Laurent’s cock, and Auguste wonders if he could get Laurent to come on just his fingers, untouched.

He works a third finger in, and Laurent gasps at the stretch. Auguste rubs his side. “Relax, darling.”

He works three fingers until Laurent is taking them well, arching into it like he wants more. At this point Auguste’s not sure how much longer he can wait. His cock is leaking against his pants, and he feels like he’s been hard for hours. He pulls his hand away, leading to a whine from Laurent, and unlaces his pants as quickly as he can, shucking them off. They get caught on his boots, which he forgot about and has to sit on the edge of the bed to deal with. It takes entirely too long when Laurent is _right there_ , ready and waiting for his cock.

Finally naked, Auguste climbs back above Laurent, who spreads his knees invitingly. Auguste spread more oil over his cock, and takes hold of one of Laurent’s legs with his dry hand, hand behind his knee to raise it higher, nearly folding Laurent in half. Laurent is flexible enough to go with it, and it opens him up beautifully, revealing his slick hole to Auguste.

Auguste lines himself up, and gives a short thrust in, just the head of his cock past that first bit of tight resistance. Laurent makes a small, pained noise, and Auguste leans down to kiss him.

Even just this much feels amazing. Laurent’s hole is tight and warm on his cock, and Laurent’s body under him shudders. “Auguste,” he gasps.

“It’s alright,” Auguste tells him. “You’re doing so well. You feel so good. You’re taking it so well. Just relax, darling. It will start to feel good.” He kisses him, and Laurent is greedy reaching for the kiss, licking into Auguste’s mouth, gasping against his lips.

After a few minutes, Laurent’s hips twitch a minute fraction. “Okay,” he says. “You can move now.”

“Are you sure?” Auguste asks, even though every muscle in his body is screaming at him to _thrust_ forward and bury himself to the hilt in Laurent.

Laurent nods. “Yes.”

Auguste thrusts further in, and Laurent winces, but says, “Keep going.”

Auguste keeps up a reassuring nonsense babbling, about how well Laurent is doing and how good he feels, until he’s fully seated, balls flush against Laurent’s ass. He still again, giving Laurent time to adjust, and waits until Laurent’s hips that small twitch, that sign that he’s ready, before he pulls back out halfway and thrust back in. Laurent gasps again, making small breathy noises on each thrust, and Auguste savors each one. He works up to full thrusts, until he’s pulling nearly all the way out and slamming back in, and Laurent takes it all beautifully, arches into it and begs for more, just like Auguste knew he would. 

This feels like where they’re meant to be, here together, bodies entwined. It’s a bit of a contortionist act, bending Laurent in half nearly, to lean down and kiss him again, but Auguste can’t stop himself. He wants to swallow down the noises he’s making. Wants them for himself, wants to remember them forever. Wants to see what he looks and sounds like when he comes on Auguste’s cock and then do it all again, in a new position, just to see if Laurent’s face changes at all. Would his eyes be wider if he was riding Auguste’s cock and gravity were making him take it harder? Would he be able to hold himself up on his knees when Auguste takes him from behind or would they collapse under him, too shaky from pleasure to hold himself up? Would his ass flush as red as his cheeks, if Auguste slapped it?

Auguste looks down at Laurent under him, hair a mess, head tossed to the side, biting his bottom lip to try and keep in his moans of pleasure, cheeks marked with high spots of color. He’s a wreck, and Auguste thinks he loves him more in this moment than he ever has before.

He reaches for Laurent’s cock, and Laurent nearly screams at finally being touched, coming after just two strokes. Auguste fucks him through it, a bit rougher now, and Laurent shudders under him. “Come on, Auguste,” Laurent murmurs, voice sounding nearly as wrecked as he looks. “I want you to come in me.”

That sends Auguste over, and he spills inside Laurent, hips losing their rhythm.

Afterwards, as they both lay sprawled on their backs, trying to catch their breath, Laurent rolls toward Auguste and Auguste raises an arm, pulling him closer. Laurent snuggles in next to him, head pillowed against his shoulder.

“We could have tricked the pirate though,” Laurent says after a quite minute.

“Who?” Auguste asks.

“The pirate,” Laurent repreats. “The one who wanted to fuck me.”

“Oh him.”

“Yes him. If you hadn’t been so silly about it. Now what will you tell Father.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Auguste tells him. “I’ll think of something.”

\- - -

Father is more understanding about the failed mission than Auguste had dared to hope, but that’s likely because Auguste’s mother is in the room when he reports on it.

“Let me get this straight,” Father says, sitting behind his big desk in his study. “You found the pirates’ leader, but were then unable to negotiate a deal with him.”

“He was very hard to work with,” Auguste says. “He demanded to see the goods I wanted to trade, and of course I didn’t actually have anything on me, so then my story fell apart. Orlant and I barely made it out alive.”

Orlant, standing behind him at the door, nods solemnly when the king glances at him. Auguste is going to have to give him a raise.

“And because you had no deal, you didn’t send the soldiers in after him.”

“Well, without a signed deal in hand there was no proof of his underhanded trading,” Auguste explains. “The magistrate would have been forced to release him again, and our game would have been up. This way, I can return, with some goods this time, and try again.”

Mother, who’s been sitting silently on the settee across the room with Laurent (who had evidently claimed to be visiting a friend when he’d snuck away, and had surprised their parents so much by having a friend his own age that they hadn’t questioned it) finally chimes in. “Oh, do let him try again, Aleron. Practice makes perfect after all. You can’t expect him to succeed on the very first covert mission you send him on.”

Father frowns, and take a deep breath in through his nose. “I suppose you can try again,” he says finally.

“And I can go next time and help,” Laurent says.

“We’ll see, dear,” Mother says. She pauses, then turns to Laurent with a frown. “When did you pierce your ear?”

“Aimeric did it for me,” Laurent claims.

“Your new friend? He didn’t do a very good job.”

“Well, he’s not that bright,” Laurent says.

“Why on earth did you let him near you with a sharp object then?” she asks. Laurent starts to answer, but before he can Mother has already stood up, gathering her skirts. “Nevermind, don’t do it again. Come along, we’ll see if Paschal can fix it.”

She sweeps from the room, Laurent on her heels.

Father turns back to Auguste. “The pirates won’t return for a few months. In the meantime, try to come up with a better plan than whatever you did this time.”

Auguste nods. “Yes, sir.”


End file.
